


Tempered

by Etched_in_Fire



Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [6]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Dark, Gen, Lylat Wars, Pre-Farewell Beloved Falco, Star Fox 64 - Freeform, Survival, Titania - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:18:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: 0 ALW - Ever since he was a child, Samson Shears has known his course.  He is a sixth generation soldier, born to bleed and fight for his homeland.  But at the peak of the Lylat Wars, he finds his faith shaken as he is sent on a doomed operation to retrieve intelligence from Titania, a planet known for its inhospitable environment.





	1. Descend

           Space was a merciless void.  He wondered how they felt as they died, his eyes tracing the bodies that littered the battlefield, sucked into the abyss from their ships as they burned into nothing, broken and beaten by the overwhelming enemy.  Samson Shears had seen death before but not like this-- not burning to ash in the nothingness of space.  He did not want to meet such a depressing end, left to wither and freeze, and becoming space dust made to drift Lylat forever.  But as he watched the Androssians fell yet another carrier in his fleet, he thought of those destroyed, wondering how swift their lights went out—wondering how painful or painless it was for them. 

            He tore his gaze away, rubbing at the bridge of his snout.  This was a nightmare.  From out the window, he saw the others of the armada crumble and fall into ash under the might of the Androssian fleet, a veritable blockade showering them with constant fire.  Silent deaths, the Cornerian soldiers’ screams devoured by the void of space.  Below them, Titania’s red eye swirled, watching the brutal massacre as more Androssian ships poured through the teleportation gate.  It did not so much as blink at their misfortune.  Death came to all after all.  The ruins of Titania were a memorial to its inevitable touch.

            “Your orders, sir?” a cadet under his charge yelled as the enemy’s laser fire shook their assault carrier. Samson looked to the boy—a young man with doe eyes and a life ahead of him.  One gander told the hound all he needed to know about the cadet—no facial scarring, alight of hope still in his eyes.  He had never seen the hell of war before. 

            “Sir?” the cadet asked again.

            “Pull out,” said Captain Samson Shears with reluctantly dying faith. “And pray to whatever god you believe in that we make it.”

            The cadet gave a pause, then nodded, swiveling back towards the series of screens in front of him.  Samson felt more hits rock their hulking carrier as it began to turn.  There was no sound in space, but he could hear the aircraft creaking dangerously.  They would need a miracle to escape the onslaught, he knew.

            “Sir!  We’re being hailed!  From Corneria City, sir!” someone yelled over the commotion.

            _General Pepper…_

Begrudgingly, Samson barked out, “Open communications!”

            “But sir, what if the enemy—”

_“Do as I say!”_

            On the communications screen, General Pepper’s face came into view.  The line was weak—static faded their noble leader’s image a few times, but with an unprofessional slam of his fist to the control panel did Samson temporarily realign the connection.  General Zachary Pepper had a hard look in his dark almond eyes, a cherry red lollipop vaguely off-screen, still in hand.  Samson could not believe the general was snacking at a time like this.

            “Captain Shears,” the General said with a scrutinizing look. “What is happening on the battlefront?”

            “There’s too many of them,” Samson said back with the sort of authority he did not have against the honored General of Corneria.  But his nerves were alight and his heart raced—he did not have time for common courtesies.  “We have to pull back.  Titania is a hopeless cause.”

            “Hold out a little longer. We have reinforcements on our way,” General Pepper urged, and every word he spoke felt like a bullet.  Samson’s hands gripped the sides of the control panel, his eyes dragging from the cluttered radar.  More of Andross’s fell weapons were pouring from the enemy carriers—fashioned in the shapes of serpents and birds. 

            “We won’t make it,” Samson said through gritted teeth. “We’ll die if we stay.  The fleet has fallen.”

            “Captain, the knowledge on Titania is invaluable,” General Pepper began in a low voice, though in the shifting of his eyes, Samson could see that he was even incredulous at his own words.  But there was growing resolve in his expression, a darkened thought crossing his mind.  He inhaled, suckling his lollipop for a moment with thought. The captain bit back a growl as their noble leader continued urgently, “Is there no way to reach the surface?”

            “No.  We’re under heavy fire and—”

            As if on cue, their carrier trembled under the impact of laser fire.  His hands tightly clenched the control panel, his knees bent to keep his balance.  A few others were not so lucky and were nearly sent spilling from their chairs.  All the while, their fearless leader said nothing, staring at them from the safety of his Cornerian-based headquarters, a placid expression on his face.  Samson looked to those under his care, the young bright-eyed cadets that were facing death for their first time.  Perhaps even their only time.  He drew forth a breath, three words spilling from him with growing loathing.

             “Make the jump!”

            “Captain…” General Pepper warned. “There may be consequences for this.”

            “Are those consequences worse than death?” Samson Shears asked with rising vigor in his voice.  “No.  I don’t think so.  We are leaving.”

             In the background, he heard the engines of their carrier rev, and the nose of the massive ship aimed for blissful freedom.  Laser fire danced around them, dissipating into the abyssal darkness.  A rumble indicated a few hits had struck true, and Samson gnashed his teeth in a bared snarl.

            “Captain, consider what you are doing for a moment!” General Pepper barked over the communications channel, giving the lollipop a definitive crunch.  He chewed the remnants of the candy, swallowing it with boiling rage in his dark eyes.  “You’re dooming this operation.  There is vital information on that planet that could help us with the war—”

           “This operation was doomed from the start,” Shears snapped back.

            Wordlessly, General Pepper’s face had disappeared from the communication panel.  There were no words exchanged from the crew of the assault carrier.  He could hear their haggard breathing as they worked. As the hulking carrier’s frame trembled, Samson began to prepare what he would say to the general when they arrived home.

            “Preparations complete,” the nearby cadet said. “Making the jump in 10….”

            A few more shakes and the ship stared at the emptiness of space, where they would be thrust into lightspeed in the matter of a few painstakingly long seconds.  Shears felt his nails try to dig their way into the metal of the control panel, his breath caught in his throat.  The captain’s dark eyes lifted as one of the Androssian battleships turned to face them.  A soft glow emanated from its cannons, swelling like ocean waves under the brutality of a storm.

            The countdown continued, muffled by his nerves and fear.  He thought of his home, his family-- a lineage of soldiers for five generations, medaled and honored.  He mulled over how they would judge his actions here and if they would call him a coward.  Was there cowardice in running from death, he wondered.  Was their wisdom in living to fight another day?  He was a young man, unmarried with the world still full and ahead of him.  There was too much to live for.  Too much to give up.  He could not throw his life away, not even for the famed war hero Zachary Pepper.  Idols meant nothing when you were dead.

            “3… 2…”

            The final few seconds lingered for an eternity. Samson willed the passage of time to speed up—if only for them, if only for the sake of their lives.  But as the laser shot forth from the enemy’s battleship, he felt his heart take flight with levels of horror he had never felt before. 

             Shears was thrown forward from the blast, toppling over his control panel.  Red lights flooded his vision, bright as Solar’s flares with sirens that deafened.  From where he lay on the ground, he felt the nose of the carrier dive.  Screams, shouts, and cries were drawn out by the shrill blaring of alarms.  He pulled himself up, grunting with exertion.

            “Our engines are down!  All internal power is decreasing rapidly… Oxygen levels vastly decreasing…” the doe-eyed cadet yelled. “We’re going down!”

            “Seal all doors!  See if you can’t divert remaining power to the engines and get us at least aimed for a crash landing on Titania,” Shears commanded.

            “Sir,” the cadet stared at him wide-eyed. “The hull is broken in half!  We’re not e-even attached to the…the engines…”

            They were falling from space, burning and aimed towards the merciless Titania.  Its red eye watched their descent, staring at the screaming crew without a flicker of mercy.  All he could see in the front window was the planet, the freedom of space reaped from them. He clawed his way to the controls as best as he could, switching the piloting to manual and pulling back on the stick.  Another shudder and he felt more of the ship fly away as they entered Titania’s atmosphere.  The crashing carrier would not yield to him and so he clung to the controls for his dear life, shutting his eyes to block out the mayhem unfurling all around.  He heard glass crackling, felt the doors break apart.  More screams, more deaths.  Lights were burning out all around him but he did not have the strength to look them in the eye.

            More explosions resounded somewhere in the distance.  His lungs struggled for oxygen, his mouth gaping wide with the need to breathe.  The impact of the carrier hitting the Titanian surface ripped Samson Shears from the control panel, shattering the front window.  He opened his eyes as his body was flung across the bridge, his hands grabbing at empty air for support.  Cries were the dissonant symphony that played in what he was certain were the final moments of his life.  Something rushed up to meet the back of his head and then all went dark.


	2. Obelisk

            It was not often that Zachary Pepper, famed war hero and general of all of Corneria and her colonies, called his subordinates into his personal chambers.  Lengthy hallways and scanners that would have annihilated any would-be-assassin on sight marked the route to the General’s office.  Trained security cameras followed the bright-eyed hound as he made his way, black boots stepping in a trained heel-toe fashion that betrayed not a sliver of his bubbling anxiety.  The lady who guided him was a jackal, with hips that swayed like a pendulum beneath her tight black skirt.  He knew the way she rolled her stride was for him, but he had ever been the stoic one.  He let her play her games; he would play his on the battlefield, where it _really_ mattered.

            Samson Shears would have counted himself among the General’s greatest fans, though he was a man of stoic, concise nature when it came to his job.  He had thrived off the war tales of Zachary Pepper since he had been a pup, and knowing his father had served alongside him in the Civil War made his chest swell with pride.  He had thought he would have been more excited to meet the General in person, but his enthusiasm had been curbed severely by the Lylat Wars.  Andross’s strike out of nowhere had set the Cornerian Army and Cornerian Defense Force both on edge—and Samson feared that their mighty military would not be enough to save them from the hell the mad ape would unleash.

            “The General is right this way,” announced the secretary as they neared the final set of doors.  The jackal gave a bow, one that showed how she had neglected to fasten the top two buttons of her airy white camise.

            “Thank you, ma’am,” the soldier said with a stiff bow in turn and walked through the automatically sliding doors.

            General Zachary Pepper sat on the other side of a grand desk, his back to a window that oversaw the beauty of the capital city.  Beyond the protective shields that glistened as Lylat’s rays struck it just right, Samson could see the hurried city life resuming down below.  How pleasant it must have felt to be a citizen, he mused darkly.  Their laughter was ever-unaware of the atrocities happening a few jumps to lightspeed away.

            The General himself was a sight to behold, decked from head-to-toe in fiery crimson, black, and gold.  An aura of knowledge and strength seemed to dance in the air around Pepper; he was a man of outstanding character, a hero to the commonfolk, a usurper of tyrants.  Shears felt himself hesitate under the General’s keen eye, feeling his entire person fall under the war-dog’s indiscriminate judgement. 

            “Officer Samson Shears,” the decorated general stood at his arrival, giving a sharp salute that Samson returned once he had reached Pepper’s desk. “I hope the trip back to Corneria was pleasant for you.  I understand you’ve been on the frontlines for some time now.”

            “It was a smooth, uneventful trip.  A small blessing during these times,” Shears replied in a voice that he forced to sound perhaps _too_ amiable.  Politics and politeness had never been his forte, and why should they have been?  He was born into a family of soldiers, not teahouse owners. 

            “Good, good,” Pepper nodded. “Please, be seated.” He gestured to the chair in front of him before taking a seat himself.  “Would you like anything to drink?  I can have anything brought to you.”

            “Perhaps water,” Samson replied as he sat.

            “A very healthy choice!” Pepper chortled, pressing on a button under his desk. “Sally, a water and a Cornerian Cola, please!”  Samson presumed there was a speaker that he could not see located somewhere on the desk and was mildly impressed the General had seen fit to install such a device.

            Once the beverages had been brought and their deliverer departed, General Pepper’s expression shifted.  The genial air about him withered as he sipped his drink, almond eyes studying Samson with great thought. Though Samson drank, he could not taste the water—perhaps his rattled nerves had something to do with that.

            “I was about your age when the Civil War began,” General Pepper began. “Your father and uncles must have told you stories.  Your family has been quite prominent in the security of our homeland.”

            “They told me some things.  Things they were comfortable saying, that is,” Samson replied carefully.  He did not want to sugarcoat it; the Civil War had nearly torn Corneria apart.  It had been the definition of hell and decades later, the planet was still suffering from it.  “I know it was hard.”

            “That it was. When we realized what the Prime Minister was doing, we had no choice but to uphold the oaths we had sworn.  It was a long, hard battle.  One that tested our resolve and made us question our own morality,” General Pepper said with a solemn nod.  His nails rapped against the glass of his bottle. “When the dust had settled and we realized that we had won, we asked ourselves, ‘What next?  How do we make sure this never happens again?’… and we began to fortify our nation.  Strengthening it, uniting all under our ideals.  We did so hoping that our future would not be a repeat of the mistakes of the past.”

            The General paused, letting the air stew with his nostalgia and sentiment.  He rose from his chair, looking out over the capital city that he had helped rebuild with his own, tired hands.  Samson could hear him sigh—it sounded like it carried the weight of the entire Lylat System.  Perhaps it did.

            “When I look at you,” General Pepper looked over his shoulder. “I see a younger version of myself.  Bright-eyed, spirited.  Talented in combat, too. You are the product of the future we forged.  And I could not be prouder.”

            Samson felt his ears burn at the compliment.  His words and his thoughts jumbled about, and so the hound could only reply with a small wordless nod of silent thanks.  Pepper seemed to sense his awe and gave an amiable smile to the hound, turning his back to him once more with his glass bottle of cola in hand.  He gave a thoughtful sip, a delightful ‘pop’ resounding in the quieted desk the moment his mouth drew away from the bottle’s opening.

            “We have need of a man of your talents on a mission that I cannot say will be easy.  Our reports tell us that Andross has set up base on the desert planet of Titania.  He seems to be studying the ancient ruins there.  We are uncertain why,” General Pepper informed him gravely. “We fear he is trying to unlock the secrets of the Goras—a planetary defense mechanism that has existed for millennia; untested by any that try to traverse the arid wasteland.”

            “Do you want me to destroy his base?” Shears asked, feeling as though the question was rather obvious.

            “No.  I want you to figure out what he is doing there,” Pepper turned to face him once more. “Titania’s secrets have eluded us for years.  We know very little about it, and what we do know…” There was a darkening in his eyes and he frowned, shaking his head. “… Well.  Let me just say that Andross having such knowledge could put us at a disadvantage to the war.”

            “I understand,” Shears said stiffly, though he had more than a few questions buzzing about his mind. 

            “You are being promoted to the rank of captain.  And for this mission alone, I will grant you a fleet of some of the most trustworthy pilots that the Cornerian Army has seen,” Pepper continued.  “You are to neutralize the forces there and bring back the data found in their planet-side base.  Under no circumstances will I accept failure for this.”

            “Affirmative, General,” Shears said with a salute.

            It had seemed so simple back then.  He had not known what he was agreeing to.  The weight of the war had rested so easily on his shoulders.  Bravado and confidence had filled his lungs, sparking his step.  A new medal had adorned his uniform, glistening gold.  He had phoned his parents immediately to tell them of his promotion and they had been overjoyed.  Completely unsurprised but overjoyed.  He had phoned his brothers and sister next—they had all had achievements in their own right, but he felt it pertinent to remind them that he was still around, still fighting the good fight that their family had always believed in.  When he had made it to his new carrier two days later, he had run his hands over every inch of her control panel, feeling the power emanating from the metal.

            _I should not get carried away,_ Shears told himself adamantly, but giddiness of his promotion and honorable secret mission had him smiling just a tad bit more than normal.  He flipped through his lengthy fleet roster at least once all of the way through, memorizing as many names as he could from his crew before he even met them.  On the day that they took flight for their mission, he had addressed his fleet with words that he hoped would inspire them to do their best—but those words seemed to have dissipated into nothing now, lost in memory, destroyed like the fleet had had been assigned to guide.

            Lylat’s rays were exceptionally hot on Titania and their brightness awoke Shears with a start.  The scent of smoke tickled his nose and he lurched upright with a throaty cough-gag combination, his battered hands clinging to his stomach as he tried to fight back the vomit.  He lost the battle horribly and his stomach lost its contents.  When he was done retching, he drew his watery eyes up to the wreckage. 

            His carrier had crashed nose-first, which had thrown Samson from the cockpit along with a few other unfortunate members of his crew.  What little remained of the hull was burning, a column of black smoke reaching the high heavens in a silent plea for help.  Shears pushed himself to his feet, a sharp pain in his side.  His hand found its source—a piece of shrapnel had embedded itself into his flesh and had stained his jade uniform with unsightly carmine blood.  Samson sucked in a breath, steadying himself before taking a few shaky steps forward.

            “Watch out!” a voice cried out just moments before the wreckage collapsed, sending a spray of sparks towards the captain.  He shielded his face with an arm, though he did not feel the burn of embers reach his ragged sleeves.

            “It’s not safe to go in there!” the voice continued and Samson looked to his right at a spotted dog in a tattered cadet’s uniform.  He realized then it was the doe-eyed cadet from before.  That spark of life and hope in his eyes was gone now.  He looked like every other war-dog of Corneria now—grim and tortured by war.

            Apologetically, the cadet said, “I tried to pull out as many as I could…”

            Samson’s eyes swept down to the unconscious avian next to him—a cardinal with brown and red plumage.  His gaze moved from her to the bull next to her—a hulking figure that he did not believe the cadet could have lifted by himself.  That was when he saw the other survivor, a broad-shouldered bulldog with a torn uniform and a bloodied spot where his left eye had been.

            The Captain turned to looked back at the smoldering carrier and watched as the interior completely gave way, succumbing to an unlivable inferno.  The sight was enough to bring a man to his knees but his legs did not yield.  He stood there numbly watching the flames stretch for the sky, their heat caressing his face.  It was all gone now.  All finished.  His career, his hopes, aspirations… perhaps even his life.  The Red Planet was not known to be forgiving, even to the innocent.

            “Can I get some help here!?” the gruff bulldog snapped at the cadet. “Get the lady up, she’s a nurse, she can help this.” He gestured to the blood caked on the left side of his face.

            “She may be injured too!  Ugh… let me see if I can help…!” the cadet offered and the bulldog gave him a scowl in return.

            “If you want.  But I don’t trust a whelp like you’s opinion on stuff like this,” the bulldog said scornfully.

            “Is there no one left…?” Samson asked them. “No one but us…?”

            “If there is, we haven’t found them yet,” the cadet said as he took a look at the bulldog’s eye.  “I found these three and that was it.  The rest…” He did not finish his sentence but Samson understood what he meant.

            The hound approached the other survivors, still feeling nothing at all but the throbbing of his body realizing there was metal protruding from it.  He winced as he sat next to the bulldog, his bum resting on a slab of the carrier’s hull.  Words escaped him, thought failing him other than the words “It’s all over” repeating over and over in his rattled mind.  He squeezed his hands together to try to get feeling in them again but they seemed to be just as in shock as the rest of him. 

            “Theodore Blunt,” the cadet said and it took Samson a moment to realize the lad was giving him his name. 

            “Captain Samson Shears,” said the hound in reply, though the title felt lousy on his tongue.

            “I know who you are,” the cadet replied with a half-smile, despite their circumstances. “I just thought if we’re gonna make it out here, we might as well know who each other is.”

            “Name’s Carlisle and I’m the one that’s gonna kick ya to the next star system if you don’t find morphine.  Harrumph!  We had a whole supply of it, where’d it go?” the bulldog grumbled.

            “Do you not care that we just lost over three hundred good soldiers?” Samson began but his voice cracked. 

            _Five survivors… That’s all?  All those ships that burned up… All the ones that crashed…_

“I care enough but they’re dead, I’m alive,” Carlisle retorted. “And them being dead isn’t gonna help me any.”

            _Spoken like someone who’s seen his fair share of deaths… and defeats._

“You’re a Shears; you oughta know things just go this way sometimes,” Carlisle added grumpily.

            _I am a Shears but a pathetic one at that._

            “Unhhh…” the cardinal murmured with a stir and Samson’s head jerked painfully her way as her ruby eyes opened into the glare of Lylat’s rays. One of her wings came up to shield her eyes and she groaned.

            “Easy there,” Theodore said to her, rushing from Carlisle to the waking nurse.  “You’re gonna be all right.”

            “Blastin’ Androssians…” the nurse coughed, her spittle containing a few globs of red.  Samson fervently scanned her for any sort of wounds and saw only scratches.  She sat up, rubbing her temples. “What happened…?”

            “We crashed,” Theodore began explaining rapidly. “We’re on Titania now.”

            “Oh hells,” the cardinal sank back down into the sand.  She glanced to her right and saw the unconscious bull.  Eyes snapping wide with shock, she bolted upright again. “Oliver!?”

            “You know him?” Theodore asked.

            “He’s… he’s my partner.  We’ve been assigned to the same carriers for years.  Oliver!!!  Oh… don’t tell me he’s—!” the cardinal began, crawling towards the bull.

            “He’s alive, don’t you fret your pretty head,” Carlisle said in a not-terribly-reassuring way. “Do you mind taking a look at me real quick-like, lady…?”

            “Zoe,” the cardinal spat, sand grains shaking off her beak as she slowly rises to her feet. “My name’s Zoe.  Come here, if you’re so eager.” 

            As she began to tend to Carlisle, Theodore approached Samson, wiping his brow with the back of his ripped sleeve.  Despite everything, the cadet seemed to be brimming with sunlight and optimism.  “Well, that was rough!  But we’re going to be okay, I think.  If we can get the big guy up, we could probably make a shelter with some of the scraps left from the carrier.  That’ll protect us from the sun while we wait for rescue.”

            “The carrier’s a giant SOS signal,” Samson mused darkly. “That’s both good and very bad.”

            “You don’t think they’ll come looking for us?  They probably think we all died,” Theodore shook his head. “Hey, wait… is that blood?  Oh… you’re bleeding, sir!”

            Samson glanced down at the shrapnel in his side.  It was starting to wake more, tendrils of agony crawling through his nervous system.  He moved his arm to reveal the wound more to the cadet.

            “Observant,” he retorted to the spotted dog. “But the others can be tended to first.”

_If I die like this, it’s what I deserve for taking this damn mission._

            “Well, I never got formally trained in medical stuff, but I do know _some_ first aid,” Theodore bent down to eye the shrapnel closer. “I might be able to pull it out, but sealing the wound’s gonna be tough.  I don’t uh… suppose anyone has any needles and thread…?”

            “Does it look like I carry a sewing kit with me?” Shears asked dryly.

            “No but you’re lucky he does,” Zoe piped up, gesturing to the unconscious Oliver.  She stood over him, her white nurse’s scrubs shredded at the sleeves and stained with dirt and blood both.  She held a thread and needle in her hands, a hard look in her eyes. “ ‘Just in case’… and I spent all those years making fun of him for it.  Bah.  Come here, Captain, let’s take a look at that.”

            As Zoe looked over his wound, Samson felt the edges of his vision blur.  Exhaustion hit him like a truck, his adrenaline tapering off as the reality set in.  Corneria was a lifetime away from the hell that they had landed in.  The carrier was a mass grave, the smoke that billowed from it an obelisk to mark the lives lost.  All around them, the sands stirred under the soft wind that blew across the vast emptiness of Titania.  He feared this would be where they met their end, bones turned pale by the merciless Lylat above, and forgotten by their homeland.  He feared he would be listed as a casualty, missing-in-action and not buried in a grave belonging to a soldier.  He feared that his leadership had led them to their graves.

            _We were just one second away from freedom…_

“Captain, I’m going to extract the metal now.  I’m going to need you to be as still as you can…” Zoe said, voice softening. “This… This will hurt.”


End file.
